Sorority — Wars

Trapped. No phone. And somewhere below, Lena’s laugh echoed up the stairs.

Chloe nodded, her mouth dry. She’d rushed Psi Delta for the alumni connections, not for guerrilla capture-the-flag across seven acres of manicured lawns, frat basements, and one very suspicious hedge maze. But the “Sorority Wars” was tradition—a brutal, semi-legal obstacle course where the only real prize was bragging rights. And the flag: a silk banner of deep purple, embroidered with the Theta Tau owl.

At Margot’s signal, the two dozen Psi Deltas scattered into the pre-dawn fog. Chloe was assigned to “Observation,” which turned out to be crouching behind a recycling bin near the Theta house, radio pressed to her ear.

Silence. Then chaos. Psi Deltas tackled Chloe in a muddy, slimy hug. Thetas threw their supersoakers to the ground in disbelief. Sorority Wars

Lena shrugged. “Because you looked nervous at the pancake breakfast last week. You’re not a soldier. You’re a student who just wanted friends. I respect that.” She paused. “Also, I hate a boring victory.”

The first rule of Psi Delta’s annual “War Games” was simple: Never trust a Theta . The second rule, printed in embossed gold on the back of each pledge’s recruitment pamphlet, was: Especially if she smiles first.

“Theta Tau has taken the flag three years running,” said Margot, the Psi Delta captain, a senior with a razor-sharp bob and a whistle hanging from her neck like a war medal. “They cheat. They lie. They hide the flag in their bras , Chloe. Last year, we found it taped under a toilet lid in their house. This year, we end them.” Trapped

Then she turned and vanished into the fog.

Chloe’s stomach dropped. She could already hear, in the distance, a triumphant whoop from the Psi Deltas—racing toward the boathouse. A trap.

“You’re lost, yellowbird,” the Theta said. Her name tag read Lena. President. Chloe nodded, her mouth dry

She grabbed it. A motion sensor beeped. The attic door locked behind her.

Chloe looked out the tiny attic window. The ground was a three-story drop. Below, the war raged on—sisters screaming, slime flying, dignity evaporating.

Lena stepped closer. “No, you don’t. Because Sarah is my little cousin. And she’s been feeding your team fake intel for the last hour. The flag never left our attic.”